Eating Things on Sticks Read Free

person we come across.’
    It was quite late by then, so there was no one. There were no houses, either. If there was a village anywhere, it was successfully hidden. We saw sheep, but they’re not helpful when it comes to finding out where you are.
    Finally, some ancient codger on a bike came round the corner. He had a beard like a used scouring pad. I was expecting him and Uncle Tristram to end up in yet another of the conversations like the ones on the ferry – all, ‘Ooh, yar. Darp plummet gep!’ and ‘Quite so. Indeed!’ But though the ancient codger was hard of hearing, he clearly wasn’t quite as steeped in darkest dialect as those on the boat. So when Uncle Tristram gave up on showing him the hastily pushed together pieces of map and simply shouted, ‘Morning Glory!’ at him, the baffled look turned into a seraphic beam. Ushering us a few yards round the corner, the ancient codger pointed.
    There, in the shadow of the hill we’d seen from the ferry, stood what looked like a large and ugly cardboard box with ill-fitting windows.

    â€˜Marvellous!’ said Uncle Tristram.
    The codger stood there waiting for some sort of tip. But Uncle Tristram was already hurrying back towards the car. As he came past, he slowed so I could scramble in before he took off with a squeal of wheels.
    IN THE PRESENCE OF THE APPLE

    We knocked on the door. After a moment it opened, and there stood Morning Glory, dressed in some sort of silver tube that barely covered her bottom. Her legs were stuck in furry yeti boots. She wore a lot of bangles on one wrist, and flowers in her hair.
    â€˜Tristram!’ she cried, and threw her arms around him.
    â€˜Hi, Morning Glory!’ he said enthusiastically, and patted her silver bottom. ‘How far’s the pub? Poor Harry and I are starving .’
    â€˜I’ll fix you something,’ she offered. ‘Just let me finish my session first.’
    â€˜Session?’
    â€˜I’m putting myself in harmony with the universe,’ explained Morning Glory.
    Uncle Tristram asked guardedly, ‘Does it take long?’
    â€˜No, no. You go and unpack.’
    â€˜I think we’ll just sit here and wait,’ said Uncle Tristram. (I think he hoped that we would put her off whatever she was doing enough to hurry things along.) Morning Glory sank cross-legged to the floor and sat there for a minute or two.
    â€˜What are you doing?’ I asked her.
    â€˜Ssh!’ she said. ‘Try not to disturb me. I am sitting quietly in the presence of the apple.’
    â€˜What apple?’
    She pointed. Over in the corner of the room, there was an apple on the floor.

    â€˜I’ll bring it closer, shall I?’ I offered politely.
    â€˜No, thanks,’ she said. ‘It’s fine just where it is because, right now, I am just being mindful of the apple.’
    â€˜So you don’t actually want it?’
    â€˜No,’ she said. ‘Not until it’s time to look at it. I’ll need it then. And after that, when I’ll be listening to it.’
    â€˜Apples don’t make a lot of noise,’ said Uncle Tristram, ‘unless someone’s munching them, of course.’
    â€˜That isn’t what I do,’ said Morning Glory rather scornfully.
    We sat and waited for what seemed a good few weeks while Morning Glory listened to the apple. Sometimes I looked around the room at all the lumpy brown furniture and a particularly ghastly corner in which there was a sizeable collection of owl and pig knick-knacks. The rest of the time I kept my eyes on Uncle Tristram, half expecting him to start making faces behind Morning Glory’s back. But he sat tight. Clearly he’d had to sit through times when she did weird things like put herself in harmony with the universe before.
    Finally, Morning Glory got to her feet and walked across to pick up the apple. She held it to her nose.
    â€˜What are you doing now?’